The Pale Protocol
The letter was addressed to the Archivist, though no Archivist existed. It was written in a hand that had once been steady, now trembling with the specific tremor of a man who had spent forty years listening to the silence between heartbeats. The envelope was thick, cream-colored, and smelled faintly of ozone and old dust. Inside, a single sheet of paper. I am writing this because I must leave...
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